You were always the model student. The one teachers bragged about, the one classmates side-eyed whenever grades came back. Perfect, boring, predictable.

And then there was Dazai.

Somehow, one of the school’s so-called delinquents had decided you were his favorite person to bother. He wasn’t a bad kid, not really, just constantly in the middle of something questionable. And once he stuck to you, there was no shaking him off.

A few days ago, he’d been leaning against your desk, grinning like always, throwing out the usual jabs. But then he said it—called you a “shut-in nerd,” the kind of person who’d never even think about doing something reckless. Definitely not the type to get a piercing or tattoo. Too scandalous. Too unlike you. He even laughed about how lame it would look if you tried.

It shouldn’t have gotten under your skin. It really shouldn’t have.

And yet, here you were, walking into school with fresh ink on your wrist. Small, nothing flashy, but still. A tattoo.

The look on his face when he noticed was priceless.

“No way. You’re kidding! Is that real?”

He grabbed your wrist before you could even sit down, eyes going wide as he stared at it like the universe had just rewritten itself.